


Taken For Granted

by Randominity



Category: NSYNC, Pop Music RPF, Popslash
Genre: F/M, Genderswap, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-26
Updated: 2012-07-26
Packaged: 2017-11-10 23:09:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,963
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/471738
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Randominity/pseuds/Randominity
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lance turns into a girl.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Taken For Granted

  
Lance had known right away, he supposed, that he'd turned into a girl; when he'd woken up in the middle of the night and felt that something just wasn't _right_ , that his t-shirt seemed ill-fitting and his pajama bottoms looser. The smoothness of his face when he rubbed at it sleepily went unnoticed, but he started hyperventilating a bit on the full-body patdown that followed, telling himself not to panic because okay, okay, he had breasts, and that was a bad thing; but okay, breasts he could handle, because weird hormonal things happened sometimes, right, and they could take care of that, _somehow_. But never on the _"dick still there?"_ check did he expect the results to be _"that's a negative, Roger,"_ and that was when he ran to the bathroom, stripped, and stared. 

"Who _are_ you?" he asked the girl in the mirror, who looked sort of like him, only a bit smaller, a bit softer around the edges; the voice that filled the room sounded sort of like his, too, only higher, the way it got when he was excited or agitated. The girl in the mirror didn't have a response, but that in itself was an answer; she was him now -- sort of -- and if he didn't like her, he'd have to learn how. 

He called a group meeting before doing anything else, because otherwise his instinct was to call his mother, and he was sure he'd cry if he did that. It was 3 am and he was certain the others would be mad, but they also knew that he wouldn't call at this time of night without good reason, and all agreed, sounding anxious. It wasn't until Justin arrived, concern written all over his face, that Lance realized the way his voice sounded must have set off alarms in their heads. 

It was also then that he realized he'd forgotten to get dressed. 

Justin shrieked, ironically, like a girl, until Lance yanked him out of the hall and scrambled to throw his clothes back on, at which point Justin began to giggle. "Man," he said in wonder, "you're a _girl_. That's, like, the most messed up thing that's ever happened; you realize this, right?" 

"I can't believe you're not more freaked out by this," Lance said, putting his hands on his hips, and immediately thought that might not be the right gesture when Justin started to laugh harder. "This isn't even funny! Justin, get a grip--" 

"You look... like your _mom_ ," Justin managed to get out, before collapsing on his bed in hysterics, and Lance scowled. Yet another thing not to like about this situation; now when he invoked his stern mother routine, he'd really look like a stern mother. 

Chris thought it was all a joke at first when he got to Lance's room. "Nice rack," he nodded noncommitally, before saying to Justin "this is what's so funny? You stupid fuck; how much have you had tonight?" 

JC turned out to be the most concerned. "Oh my God, you must be freaking out," he said softly, with sympathy. "Are you okay? Do you feel weird? Is it--" 

"It's okay. Really," Lance told him, dodging the hands JC laid on either side of his head. He _was_ freaking out inside, but he didn't want to be treated like this was a terminal illness, either. 

"You coulda done better," Chris was ranting, "than wake me up at the butt-fucking-crack of dawn to show me how good your shirt-stuffing skills are, and if you ask me--" 

He didn't know whether Joey thought the rack was real or not, but when he reached out to touch it Lance grabbed his wrist and twisted his arm up behind his back so quickly that he couldn't help but wonder if the instinct had come with the goods. 

"--it's not that realistic anyway," Chris went on, oblivious. "I mean, they're too. big. or something. And too far apart, like, nobody's stacked like that unless they've had--" 

"Stacked like _this_?" Lance finally asked, irritated, and let go of Joey to yank his t-shirt up to his chin. Chris gaped, but Lance was too upset for modesty. 

"Holy _fuck_ ; you've got a _rack_!" Chris shouted. 

Justin had finally calmed down enough to comment, and said "yeah, well, he was nekked when I got here, and the rack ain't all he's got." 

* * *

The first thing Lance established was the fact that he didn't want to talk about it. At all, if possible. Not that he was in denial, really, but he didn't like to think about it any more than he absolutely had to. So okay, yeah, he really would have liked to forget that it had even happened; and barring that, he just wanted to be left alone to _deal_ with it, because that was what he did best. 

Right after he called his mother and cried. 

It drove him crazy, knowing that they were all trying not to stare; though he couldn't blame them, because he wanted to stare, too, to convince himself that it wasn't just a dream that would go away in the morning. And maybe they thought he looked weird, now that some of the familiar things about him were out of wack, and that worried him, too, because what if they thought he looked like a total freak? _He_ couldn't really tell if he looked like a freak himself; he still felt the same on so many levels. Sure, his size 11s didn't fit anymore and he'd had to borrow a pair of Chris's sneakers until he could get shoes of his own. Sure, his measurements had changed and he'd had to go shopping for bras, letting the lingerie lady eyeball him for size while Joey rubbed his shoulders supportively. But then he'd taken a full fifteen minutes trying to put each of them on, which he thought was very manly of him, and he hoped he'd never master the art of bra-wearing, for his sanity's sake. 

Eventually all of the surreptitious glances got to him, and he found that he couldn't take it any more. "Okay, go ahead," he said, folding his arms across his chest. He glared at them all. "Say it." 

They exchanged glances and shared shrugs. "Say what?" Justin asked. 

"I look like a butch lesbian with tits, don't I," Lance sighed, uncrossing his arms, so that they couldn't deny what was obviously there, out in the open. "I know you're thinking it, so go ahead and say it and let's get this out of the way already." 

"Well," Chris shrugged and set down his coffee to look over him appraisingly. "I wasn't gonna say the butch part," he said, as though that was supposed to make Lance feel better. 

"Well, thanks for throwing me a fucking _bone_ ," Lance muttered. 

Later, the others would pointedly ignore the sight of the wide, blue shoulder straps that Lance knew peeked out from the shoulders of his undershirt when they all took off their shirts to lounge in the Florida heat. Lance hadn't flinched at the opportunity to take his shirt off, because first of all, he was wearing an undershirt just like the rest of them, and second, he explained, "because it's not fair that I have to be hot while the rest of y'all get to wear nothing." 

"Yeah, but," Chris gripped Lance's wrist and yanked his arm up over his head. "You look like every girl we used to run away from in Germany." 

He wouldn't shave. He _refused_ to shave, because the only part of him he was used to shaving wasn't growing hair anymore, and he wasn't about to just give up and _embrace_ girl-dom, and who'd be looking at his legs, anyway? His armpits, obviously, were a different story. "I'm _Bohemian_ ," Lance hissed, but he was overruled, and kept his shirt on the next time the temperature crept over 90. 

* * *

Johnny just stared hard at Lance for a long, tense moment, gears turning in his head with God only knew what, before he expelled a sigh and said "well, the good thing is the tour's six months away," which Lance supposed _was_ a good thing, but he'd still have to miss all of the album promo appearances in the mean time. 

And the album was still being recorded, which meant a whole other set of issues, and "oh my God," Justin said suddenly, bringing out into the open what Lance had been mulling over from the first moment. "Lance, you can't sing bass anymore." 

So Kevin sat down at his keyboard and tested Lance's range, and suddenly it was just like when he had first joined the group and nobody, least of all him, was entirely certain where he'd fit in all over again. Every time Lance's voice cracked on a note he used to be able to sing, he cringed, glanced over at the others and mouthed a "sorry", though he felt he couldn't apologize enough. He had been a bass since he was fourteen; this whole new range of notes he'd acquired were completely foreign to him. _Falsetto_ was foreign to him. 

"Well," Kevin said when he was finished putting Lance through the ringer, "what do you say you try taking Joey's parts and he takes over yours? You know Lance's parts, Joey?" he asked. 

Joey nodded. "Yeah, I know most of 'em," he said. "The rest I can probably mess around with by ear." 

"Good," Kevin told him. "And if you can't hit a note, tweak it. We don't have time to change the arrangements. What about you, Lance?" 

Lance shook his head sadly. Joey's parts were always the hardest; after all, Joey got them because he picked things up that quickly. Kevin sighed. "Joey, you might wanna record both of your parts for now. That okay with you?" 

"Oh, yeah \-- no prob," Joey shrugged, but Lance stopped him, horrified. 

"No, it's not," he said, shooting Joey a look and meeting Kevin's gaze head-on. "Can you let us have a minute, K?" 

Kevin nodded. "I'll grab a coffee," he said agreeably, and left them alone by the keyboard. 

"Okay, Joey," Lance began. "I wanna learn your parts so I can record them." 

"I mean, you really don't have to--" Joey started, at the same time that Chris said "I don't know; do we really have time for that?" 

It _was_ going to be hard, he knew, but "you guys, we're here to record. And if I'm not recording," Lance insisted, giving each of them a significant gaze, "then what am I even _doing_ here?" 

Joey reached out and touched his elbow encouragingly. "I can teach you everything I know in, like, two hours," he said softly, and to Lance's relief, nobody had any further objections. 

* * *

Justin wanted to tell Britney, and Lance let him, with reservations. Of course, she still didn't believe Justin right away, insisting that he was putting her on until he finally sought Lance in frustration and Lance told her about the time he'd drunk too much and thrown up in her pool, which he'd been ashamed to tell anybody else. 

She hung up on him in shock. 

One blood-curdling scream, a generous shot of Bacardi, and three phone calls later, however, and Britney was considerably calmer. Enthusiastic, in fact. 

"You and me have _got_ to get together sometime," she gushed. "What size are you? What're you gonna do with your hair?" 

"Um, I'm not sure," Lance said. "I wasn't really thinking of doing anything with my ha--" 

"I'm thinking you could curl it, maybe," Britney went on, oblivious. "Give the spiky thing a rest. And if you let it grow like a couple of weeks, you can start putting clips and stuff in it. You know. Accessorize." 

"You know," Lance started uneasily. He didn't particularly want to mess with a good thing, and his hair was certainly that. "I don't think I want--" 

"And shoes!" Britney exclaimed. "What's your shoe size?" 

"Uhhhh.... men's seven?" he said weakly. 

"We need to get you some shoes," she declared. "I can be down there tomorrow and we can spend the day shopping; how's that?" 

"You know, I still don't like shopping, Britney," he informed her. 

"You're _kidding_. What kind of girl _are_ you?" she demanded. 

"The kind who had a dick a week ago," he shot back. 

* * *

Britney liked a lot of pink -- Lance had known that for ages -- but as they roamed the least populated boutiques wearing wigs she'd brought with her, Lance realized that Britney _really_ liked a _lot_ of pink. Every outfit she chose for him seemed to be pink or peach, and he kept pulling identical -- but blue -- ones from the rack and saying, "can't I try this one on instead?" but she'd just shake her head and say 

"See, but that one doesn't come in a 12," and he supposed she would know better than him. 

But. _Pink._ "Just try to pick stuff in white if you can, okay?" he finally sighed, and she agreed. 

Britney also had a fondness for midriff-baring tops, which Lance had also known, but feeling the cool air-conditioned mall air sweep over his stomach when his arms were at his sides and not over his head made him disgustingly self conscious, and he kept tugging at the bottom as he modeled for her. 

Finally she tilted her head and narrowed her eyes at him. "You know, every time you pull on it, your cleavage shows more," she said. He forced himself to stop, crossing his hands awkwardly over his navel instead. "And that just squishes them together," she added. 

"Well, _fuck_ , let's not get this, then," he muttered, and went back into the fitting room to change out of the God-awful thing. 

It was only because he was tired from walking through the mall all day that he consented to trying on the summer dress; he simply didn't have it in him to put his foot down anymore. Heck, he was already wearing the _"absolutely a_ dor _able"_ pair of sneakers Britney'd procured for him, before buying a pair for herself. He folded his hands behind his back and stood still, counting backwards from fifty in his head while the saleslady -- Dionne -- scrutinized him and agreed with Britney that yes, her friend had a winter complexion but looked good in some summer shades. 

"We appreciate the help, thanks, but we don't think we'll get this one," she finally told Dionne. 

"Thank God," Lance breathed, turning back to the fitting room. 

Britney stopped him. "No, no... see, it's... kinda..." she gestured with a finger across the chest, and Lance leaned over in the mirror to see that the buttons gaped slightly across his breasts, and that he was staring at his underwires. 

"I think," Lance said slowly, "I'm done shopping for the day." 

* * *

Back in the studio, Lance tried to act normally so that the guys wouldn't treat him differently; he rolled his eyes and mouthed "primadonna" to JC when Justin over-riffed on a solo, left Post-It notes on the guys' backs under the guise of giving encouraging hugs, poked at Joey's sides to provoke a reaction until the latter grabbed at him and made him cry uncle. 

"Say it!" Joey commanded into Lance's ear, hooking an arm under Lance's stomach and pulling him flush to his own body -- and Lance was lighter now, his feet leaving the floor entirely for a moment with Joey's motions -- but he still put up a game front and tried not to squeal, fighting back and squirming fluidly. But then Joey wrapped his other arm around Lance's torso, apparently intending to grip him under the armpit, but he under-reached and Lance felt his hand close around a breast and twisted away, his face growing red. 

"Aw, man, Joey," JC groaned, averting his gaze and shielding his eyes with his hand. 

"What? What'd he do?" Justin, who hadn't seen a thing, wanted to know. 

"Joey squeezed the merchandise," Chris said matter-of-factly, and Justin hooted and said, 

"you're so dead, Joe." 

"Uh, Lance," Joey stammered, growing red in the face himself and looking everywhere but Lance _or_ the rack. "Wow. Um. Sorry. You know I didn't-- I mean, I was just teasing before, but this time I wasn't even thinkin--" 

"No, no, it's. okay. it was. an accident," Lance muttered as he tried to remind himself of that fact, face still red, and he tugged on the neckline of his t-shirt to straighten it. "It happens," he assured Joey, and if he was unwilling to make a fuss, the others were willing to let it go as well. Joey still seemed a bit shaken up, though. 

"It's not such a big deal, you know," Lance later volunteered, sitting down next to him on the couch of their suite. 

Joey shrugged. "I dunno; maybe not to you, 'cause you're still _you_. But it's gonna take time for the rest of us to get used to it, I think. I mean." He gestured vaguely. "You even _sound_ different." 

"You know, I think it's safe to say I have more to get used to than you," Lance noted wryly, and, grinning, Joey agreed. 

"But hey," Joey added. "You've always wondered what went on in girls' heads, and now you'll know, right?" 

"Yeah," Lance said. Scary as that was. "'Cause I'm kinda thinkin' I might get a skirt," he blurted, because it was true and he _had_ been thinking some of the shirts Britney had picked out for him were kind of cute, and because he wanted Joey to stop looking at him like he'd violated some sacred trust by accidentally groping a breast. 

The blank look of shock he received instead was better. But only slightly. 

* * *

Britney finally got him shaving, using a well-practiced arsenal of guilt and sugary temperament, and the promise to give him pointers to make the experience as painless as possible. "What if," she said, extending a razor to him, "just one time, you wanna wear shorts on a hot day? Huh?" 

"I'll stay inside with the air conditioning," he grumbled, but accepted the razor anyway. 

* * *

JC stared and Chris started catcalling when Lance stumbled into the studio one morning in a pair of sling-backed platform shoes, and he felt himself grimace. The fact that he couldn't seem to walk in them made it worse; he'd hoped for a dignified strut or something, but his ankles were weak and the fifteen minutes he'd practiced were on hotel carpet and not a spit-shined tiled floor. 

"Don't _even_ ," he said curtly, throwing up a hand when Justin opened his mouth to comment. 

"I was only gonna say _oh, my God, Britney got to you_!" Justin gasped melodramatically, his hand clutching his chest. 

"I cut myself shaving," he informed them, throwing himself down on the couch and then wriggling to get himself comfortable. 

JC shook his head slowly. "Shaving?" he prompted, raising his eyebrows. 

"And--" Lance stopped, noting the confused expression on his face. "My _legs_ ," he explained. "I was shaving my _legs_ \--" 

"Oh, yeah-- 'course, yeah. Legs. Right," Joey nodded, a bit too enthusiastically. 

"--and I didn't wanna mess it up with socks and sneakers, so I had to go with these," Lance went on. He straightened up suddenly. "Anybody wanna see it?" he asked, already crossing one leg over at the knee and tugging up on his jeans to reveal the bandage. Joey was the only one who nodded, and Lance peeled back a corner of the bandaid, displaying the reddish spot on the gauzy material and a vivid red slash across the back of his ankle, where the skin creased. "Bled like a bitch, too," he murmured as he flipped the bandage back and attempted to re-stick it. "You'd think we had, like, a million blood vessels back there." 

"Oh, hey," Chris said loudly. "I cut myself shaving this morning too; lemme show ya. Right under the nose here." He lifted the tip of his nose with a finger. "And it bled, and bled, and bled, and--" 

"And," Lance said, louder still. "Check it out." He raised an arm and swept his hand over the hairless skin dramatically, while Chris and Justin applauded appreciatively. 

"You know, you shouldn't let 'em pressure you into stuff if you don't wanna do it," JC told him gently, but Lance shook his head. 

"Nah," he said. "I just looked in the mirror today and thought it was gross." He smacked JC on the shoulder. "Why didn't you _tell_ me it was gross?" 

* * *

"Dude, Lance," Chris said suddenly, while they were taking a breather from rehearsing choreography. "Can you even see your feet on a good day with those things in the way?" 

"Shut up," Lance muttered darkly. 

"No, seriously," Justin contributed. "Have you even, like, tried? I mean, those are..." he gestured vaguely. "Brit's jealous of 'em." 

Yeah, well, that would explain her fascination with foisting the midriff-baring tops on to him, wouldn't it? "Well, Brit can have 'em. This is sexual harrassment, I swear," Lance said, then glanced down subtly. For a panicked moment he _couldn't_ see his feet; then he tucked in his chin and held his shirt flat against his stomach and tried again, and still couldn't. Then he craned his neck forward and _shit_ \-- "Shut up," he said again, scowling, and settled back against the wall, sliding down to sit. 

"That's like, a lot of guys' fantasy, you know," JC said. "To wake up stacked like that? A lotta guys wouldn't be able to get enough of 'em." He turned to Lance. "You ever get anything out of it?" 

Lance shrugged uneasily. "It's not really the same when they're yours, guys," he admitted. Not that he'd ever thought of it, but he didn't think any of the others would be that thrilled to wake up with a set of tits either, no matter what they said. 

"Right. _Sure_ ," Chris snorted. 

"Oh, come on," JC said, while Joey smirked discreetly. "You have that body you'd be all over if you were still a guy, and you're tellin' us it doesn't do anything for you now?" 

Justin nodded. "You _so_ jerk off to that body, admit it," he whispered loudly, leaning further into the huddle. It was just the sort of thing Justin might do; if he had a woman's body, he'd get naked and dance in front of a full-length mirror, touching himself from head to toe. He'd probably roll around in money, too, for good measure. Hell, he probably did that _now_. 

"You guys, that is so sick," Lance groaned, pulling his knees up to his chin in an attempt to shield himself from further scrutiny. "That's. You're fucked up, that's. No, I totally don't. God, you sick bastards." 

"You don't jerk off?" Justin asked him. 

"No, I--" Lance paused. "Oh. Well, I. I didn't say _that_." 

"See, and I think that's kinda weird," Joey said. 

"Joey, please \-- it'd be the first thing you'd do." Lance shook his head. "But you know, there's, like, a million ways to do it, too. If you're a girl. Like. _Lots_." 

"And you've done 'em all," Justin prodded. 

"Three." Lance grabbed his towel and pushed himself up off of the floor, signalling that the conversation was over as far as he was concerned. "But I'm learnin'." 

* * *

"Your girlfriend's really pretty," little Cele, five years old and a fan, said shyly to Joey as he signed a CD cover for her in the food court. 

"Hey-- oh, she's not my girlfriend," Joey assured her, but Lance, wearing a baseball cap, t-shirt and track pants since they'd stopped by the mall right after rehearsal, gave her a genuine smile. 

"Thank you," he said, blushing and thinking that maybe there were perks to this gig beyond no longer being recognized in public. 

* * *

"Sorry. Sorry, sorry. Sorry 'bout this, guys. Sorry," Lance called as he skidded around the corner of their suite, late, lidded cup of coffee in one hand, the other tugging on a strap on his sling-backs. He'd not only gotten the hang of them, he was proud to say; he could run in them now, too. Shiny tiled floor and all. 

"You're wearing a _skirt_?" JC asked, incredulous. "Um, Lance. You're wearing a _skirt_." 

" _Skorts_ ," Lance said deliberately, though he could see how they might make such a mistake, and lifted a leg to show them that the 'skirt' had a middle to it. It had been his way of compromising; he wasn't ready to give in to the skirt thing yet, but he sort of wanted to give the shaved legs thing a whirl. 

"You're just getting too good at this girl thing," Chris marvelled, shaking his head. 

"'Girl' isn't a _skill_ , you know," Lance told him, and tugged on his hem in an attempt to draw Joey's gaze up from his thighs. 

* * *

Chris was the one who started calling him "Holly" first, short for Hollywood, and despite Lance's protests -- or perhaps because of them -- the others picked it up with annoying enthusiasm. "We gotta call you _something_ when we're out somewhere. Like, 'hey, you!' just isn't gonna cut it, and like, what, what can you do with _Lance_?" he had argued at the time. 

Lance wasn't amused. "That is _so_ unnecessary," he said flatly, when Joey and Justin burst into a very loud, off-key rendition of _The Holly and the Ivy_. 

"Oh, come on, you like it. You _like_ it," Chris taunted, poking him in the side to punctuate every other word. "You still ticklish in the same places? 'Cause you _like_ it," and Lance tried in vain to dodge and grab Chris's hands and think of cool Hollys. 

"Holly Hunter," he murmured, unaware he'd spoken aloud, and Joey cocked his head at him. 

"What about her?" 

"Um," Lance shook his head, the dodging more automatic than defensive. "I was just thinking she's a kinda cool person named Holly." 

Chris scoffed. "Since when does that matter? Who's a cool person named Lance?" 

"Lance Armstrong," Lance offered. 

"Name _two_ ," Chris retorted. 

"Lance _Bass_ ," Lance said, glaring at him. 

"Holly, um," Joey snapped his fingers, sitting up straighter. "Um, there's a Holly... there's gotta be more Hollys than that.... Buddy Holly," he exclaimed suddenly. "Hey," he said defensively, when Justin started to pull him into a headlock, "You did not specify male or female." 

Lance grinned. "That _is_ a good Holly," he agreed, finally catching both of Chris's hands in his. 

"Holly Cole," JC spoke up, and everyone turned to look at him. 

"Who?" Joey asked. 

JC shrugged one shoulder and tucked his hair behind his ear. "She's Canadian. She sings jazz. She's really awesome." He focused in on Lance. "Beautiful." 

* * *

One morning Lance staggered into the studio and shrugged his jacket off to display a t-shirt that read _Don't Talk To Me Until The Midol Kicks In_ across the chest. "Hey, are you okay?" Joey had asked, and Lance had pointed violently to the message on his shirt before storming off wordlessly to take a nap, and the guys had been more than understanding after that. 

For the first time since management had made him do it in Europe, he was getting his eyebrows waxed; at the time he had hated it, but now he liked the tidiness of the look. He could also now get a bra on and off in under thirty seconds. He wasn't sure what all of that meant exactly, but it didn't bother him as much as he'd thought it would. 

* * *

The guys touched his hair all the time now, it seemed; he hadn't had it cut since before he'd turned into a girl, and for a while he'd kept its increasing shagginess hidden under hats. But when the ends started slipping out from under his hat during rehearsals and attacking his ears and getting into his eyes, he started looking for other means to keep it back. 

"Hey, wha-- what are you-- what is that?" JC gasped, fighting valiantly against the shortness of breath that came with the energy he threw into dance. 

Lance shrugged as he entered the room and threw his jacket in the corner. "A headband," he said simply, reaching up to tuck the ends of his hair behind his ears; a newly acquired habit. "I _know_ you've seen one before." 

"You look kinda like one of those guys in the documentaries," Chris commented, "where they show how they transform into female impersonators." 

"Except you're the 'after' picture," Justin added. 

"Except for the hair," Chris concluded. 

"Hey, you guys," Wade directed from before the mirror. 

"Are you gonna do anything with it?" JC asked, and Joey broke formation long enough to come up behind Lance and pull two tufts free, holding them in his fists so that the ends frayed out at the sides of his head. 

"They're just long enough for pigtails," he suggested, grinning over Lance's shoulder in the mirror. 

_It's just a fucking headband,_ Lance thought, and _ow,_ and _he has me by the **hair** , fuck, how do I get out of **that** ,_ and "Let go of me, Joe," he said, trying to look like he didn't care much about being held captive by the hair. 

" _Now_ ," Wade growled, and Lance shot Joey an apologetic look as he shook his hair out and put the headband back on, because he hadn't meant to get Joey into shit or anything. 

  
JC liked Lance to sit on the floor in front of him on the sofa of whatever suite they were in that week while he ran his fingers through Lance's lengthening hair; he was thinking of cutting his own hair before shooting for the next album, so now that he had someone else's hair to play around with, he didn't seem to mind the impending loss as much. Lance didn't mind, and sometimes fell asleep while JC worked his scalp. On more than one occasion, he woke up with a braid in his hair that quickly unravelled because JC couldn't find an elastic. 

But then there was the time Chris colored a segment of his hair red with a Sharpie marker while he slept, and Lance, refusing to show distress, had worn it down all day while keeping the rest back with the headband. He'd been less thrilled the next day when it faded to pink. 

  
"It's still too short to curl much," he lamented before his bathroom mirror, running both hands through it in frustration. Joey hovered over him with a handful of butterfly clips that Britney had had Felicia drop off; Lance thanked God for female personal assistants, who were also good for supplying all kinds of other things he'd never be able to ask Mark to get for him. "It just, like. Hangs. _Straight_." 

"Maybe you just need to pin it right," Joey suggested, offering a clip. "Like, if you clip the ends together and let 'em hang a little...." He tilted his head, scrutinizing Lance for a moment. "Try twisting 'em before you clip 'em, maybe?" 

"Yeah," Lance nodded, and tried it, and it worked. 

* * *

When the Teen Choice Awards came around, a few well-placed leaks established that Lance was busy with FreeLance engagements and would not be able to attend. 

"But I still wanna go," Lance told Joey, dangling his legs in Johnny's pool as he leaned back against the deck in a t-shirt and pair of shorts. T-shirt and pair of shorts because he hadn't thought to buy a bathing suit, and then again, why would he want to buy a bathing suit? He'd rather wait until he could wear trunks again. "Holly can still go. I mean, it's not like I can stand to miss a party, right?" he added with a grin. 

Joey, treading water, folded his arms across the deck, his elbow brushing Lance's knee. "You could go and be my date," he offered, and Lance nodded. 

"Yeah, that's what I was thinking," he agreed. He reached down and trailed his fingers through the water thoughtfully. "I just need to come up with something to wear," he mused. 

"I can help with that," Joey started, but Lance shook his head, smirking slightly. 

"Um, no, 'cause you'd have me in a bikini top and stiletto heels," he said, and Joey laughed, nodding enthusiasically. 

"Yeah, and you'd look great; give 'em somethin' to talk about," he insisted, grasping Lance's ankle threateningly when Lance flicked water off of his fingers at him. 

"Give who something to talk about?" Justin asked, as he swam up to the pool's edge. 

Joey waved a hand dismissively at Lance. "Oh, we're just tryin' to figure out what Lance is gonna wear to the awards." 

"Ahhh," Justin nodded. "Holly's first night out," he said, feigning wonder, then wiped an imaginary tear. "Our little girl's all growed up!" he cried, ducking from the splash of water that Lance kicked up in response. "Well," he went on, rubbing his chin in thought. "Eyes are gonna be on you, with people wondering who you are and all, so you could make a real statement if you wanted to." 

"See, this is why stilettos are the way to go," Joey said sagely. 

I don't wanna know what kind of tripped-out fantasies you have about me in stilettos, Lance wanted to say, but he was yanked down by the ankles before he could reply and slid off the deck into the pool gracelessly, gasping sharply and taking in water. 

" _Shit_ ," he sputtered when he came up, his nose burning, and came face to face with Chris. "I don't have a bathing suit on under this, asshole," he growled, narrowing his eyes as he treaded water, and Chris simply raked his dark eyes casually up and down Lance's chest. 

"That's pretty obvious," he deadpanned, and then simply said "hey, Holly; you wanna make a statement at the show? Wear a wet t-shirt," and backstroked away. 

* * *

"You have these amazing hips," Britney had marvelled, pen jabbing at a sketch illustration of outfit ideas they'd come up with for the awards show. "It'd be a crime to waste the chance to show 'em off." 

And Lance had jumped at that chance, zoning in on a stunning pair of leather pants that slit slightly up the sides of the legs which made Britney wolf-whistle when he strutted around the walk-in fitting room. They provided just the perfect amount of slinkiness that added to his saunter, and a pair of strappy silver-blue heels simply added to the picture. Still, he always felt like the crack of his ass was on the verge of showing while he wore them. Examining himself in the mirror, he knew that there was no urgent risk of that, and could also see that he'd have to suck in his stomach for the entire evening, but looking at the swell of his pelvic bone just above the low-cut waistline, he thought it would be well worth it. 

"Hey, look; it's J-Lo!" JC'd greeted him when he came out in the pants for the first time the night of the show. Monica trailed after him, tying the top straps of his halter together behind his neck. 

"Those that have, flaunt. Those that don't, make lame J-Lo cracks," Lance quipped, then winced and tilted his head down when Monica caught a lock of hair in the knot. The look he was supposed to be going for was _wispy_ , in small fringes that stood out all over his head, and his hair was so thick by this point that he'd needed to get it thinned before the volume started to rival JC's. 

"C just wishes he had a big ol' butt of his ow--" Joey turned to take Lance in and cut off as he swivelled his head sharply, and Mel, wielding the trimmer, hissed and jerked back to keep from ruining his goatee. 

Lance stopped and looked down at the black leather halter, patting himself over. "You like it? It's okay?" He studied his fingernails, painted for the first time in a subdued turquoise to match the blue that tipped the fringes of his hair, half afraid to meet Joey's gaze. 

Joey nodded slowly, a strange expression on his face; half bemusement, half something unreadable. "It's nice," he allowed, and let Mel yank him back by the chin to finish touching him up. 

* * *

Once on the red carpet, Lance was jostled by an irritated-looking reporter when he took his instinctive spot next to Joey, and remembered with a jolt that he was _The Date_ and not _The Band_. He took a hefty step back -- how far back to stand? should he get directly behind Joey? and hey, he could see over Joey's shoulders in these heels. Staring with fascination at the back of Joey's head, he sucked his stomach in tight, unable to hear any of the reporters' questions, until the others herded up to go inside. 

Joey turned and offered him an elbow, grinning widely. "Our VIP seats await, Holly dear," he drawled. 

"Charmed," he drawled back, taking the offer; then, unable to resist, added, "You realize I'm over six feet tall in heels." 

Joey nodded happily, leading him into the arena. "I like my women Amazon." 

Then *NSYNC won the award for best single, and Joey kissed Lance, and things were kind of blurry after that. 

* * *

"Look; I got carried away," Joey tried to explain later, when Lance confronted him as they left. "You're supposed to be my _girlfriend_ , right?" 

"Date," Lance corrected distractedly, and squirmed a bit; he was hot, and a trickle of sweat was working its way down between his breasts under the leather. 

"It wasn't like--" Joey paused. "What?" 

"I'm supposed to be your date, not your girlfriend." Lance shook his head. "It wasn't like what?" 

"It wasn't like I licked you or anything. It was a celebratory kiss. It was. It was. _Little_. It was _nothing_." 

It was a peck. On the mouth. On TV. Sure it was nothing. 

* * *

"Wanna talk about it?" Britney had asked him, leaning over the back of his chair, and after a pause Lance nodded, so she took him to the ladies' room. 

"I'm not gonna talk about anything in a bathroom," he told her, ignoring her attempts to wave his concerns away. 

"Fine," she gave in. "We'll go back to the hotel." 

To Britney's credit, even once they reached her suite she didn't press the issue and let Lance work his way to the point as they drank out on the balcony. 

"You know, I used to have such a crush on you," he slurred, more out of amusement than intoxication, and completely avoiding the issue at hand. He lifted the bottle of Guiness to his lips again as Britney giggled in surprise. 

"Me?" she asked, turning her entire body to face him. "When was this?" 

"God, it was like--" it seemed so long ago now; he couldn't believe he remembered it-- "I was seventeen, and you were--" 

"Hitting _puberty_ ," she laughed. 

"Developing nicely," he amended, laughing as well. "It was..." he shook his head in wonder. "I was seventeen," he repeated, as both an excuse and an explanation. 

"So the kiss you gave me on New Years that year," Britney recalled. 

"Was very nice, thank you," he quipped. 

"And then what happened?" she wanted to know. "You turned eighteen and it just all went away?" 

_Twenty,_ he thought. The crush had faded eventually, as they often had before and since; but he'd always appreciated her as a woman, and as a source of attraction. "I didn't feel like competing with Justin for you," he said wryly. 

She clicked her tongue, still chuckling, and took a swig herself. "You didn't let me choose," she lamented. "I didn't know I had a choice. So, um," allowing her smile to fade, she asked her next question solemnly. "Are you still... I mean, do you still like women the way you did, um, before? Or," she waved the hand with the bottle in it, an inarticulate gesture. 

Lance remained silent for a long moment, considering his next words carefully, before answering. "I'm, um, bi," he said softly, then looked up to gauge her reaction. It was minimal, so he went on. "I wasn't, you know, out or anything," he explained, "but it's always been there, so..." he shrugged. "It's not really different for me now. Sort of. It's different, but not really." He screwed up his face, and laughed. "Never mind," he dismissed the subject and took another swig. 

"I was just thinking," she mused, smiling, "that I kissed you, and you're a girl." 

He smiled back. "I hope you're not questioning your sexuality on my part. It doesn't count as kissing a girl, you know." 

"Oh, no," Britney waved her hand again, shaking her head. "I've kissed girls before. I was just thinking it was funny that I sort of kissed another one." 

_Back up--_ "You've kissed, um, girls." 

Britney nodded slowly. "Most of my girlfriends. At least once. Nothing big or anything; I mean, I'm not dating any of 'em or anything, but." She shrugged. "You get really close to people. Things happen. Especially in this business, you know? I mean, I'm sure you guys have...." she took in Lance's stricken expression. "You can't tell me you guys never even...." Lance shook his head. "Not even once?" 

Lance opened his mouth and no sound came out; he tried again. "Not unless it was, like. Joking? I can't say for anybody else; I just. No, I." Wasn't it part and parcel of being in the closet? Not going up to a male friend and saying, _"hey, I love you, man, and you're cute,"_ and sealing it with a kiss? "I mean, are you..." 

"Bi?" Britney asked, and shook her head. "I don't really think so. Just... if I love my girls, I'm gonna keep 'em close to me and let 'em know how I feel, you know?" 

"Joey kissed me tonight," he mumbled. 

Britney studied him carefully. "Do you think he was just joking?" she asked, finally. 

Lance hesitated to answer. "Maybe what's bugging me is... I don't think he was, and I don't know what that means. I mean, I'm a girl, and I was there, and *NSYNC won, and he got. Happy, I guess. And kissed me." He shrugged. "I don't know how I feel about it." 

"Pretty bad, maybe, if you haven't even talked to him since the show ended," Britney suggested, and Lance simply shrugged again. 

She sighed. "Oh, honey," she offered symphathetically, leaning forward as she set her bottle down, and brushed Lance's cheek lightly with her mouth. "Macho bastards, every one of you." 

He closed his eyes instinctively and didn't pull back when she pressed her lips to his, a soft moist pressure against his mouth that admittedly sent a thrill up his spine. "Um," he started, but she cut him off. 

"Shh-- no, don't worry, it's nothing, it's nothing," she murmured, punctuating each phrase with another kiss, and suddenly Lance felt sort of bad about complaining about Joey's 'nothing' kiss, thinking that he wouldn't mind having another 'nothing' kiss here with the bottles of Guiness under the stars. They lingered for a moment longer, and then Britney released him and his eyes fluttered open as they separated. 

She smiled at him sadly. "You know, I think I'm really gonna miss Holly," she whispered. 

_We can still hang out whenever,_ Lance thought, but realized that it would never be the same when he was back to normal again, so he didn't say anything; in almost the same moment Britney's expression turned into a minxish grin. "Do you wanna have some fun, girl?" she asked, and it finally hit Lance how much he'd miss her when this was over, too. 

* * *

"If Justin knew I'd kissed other girls," Britney giggled, considerably more drunk as she waited for Lance to open the door to the group's suite of rooms, "he'd be first in line to watch." 

"He'd have to fight JC for it," Lance quipped, and fumbled his key card. "Okay, to be honest, I think we'd all be there." He turned to smile at her sheepishly as he attempted to navigate the slot. 

"And now you get to be a part of it!" she cried happily. "Look what the cat dragged in," she announced to the room once Lance had pushed the door open, and was greeted with a roomful of hellos. 

"Hey, Brit," Justin rose from where he sat watching television to meet her. "I thought you said you were going right to bed after the--" 

She winked at Lance, and Lance winked back. "Hey, so yeah, next show, Brit," Lance interrupted, as he leaned in against the doorpost, cradling his beer with both hands. "You gonna come up to see me?" 

"Oh, definitely," Britney agreed. "We have to do this again sometime." She glanced sideways at Justin and back again. "Bye," she murmured quickly and leaned in for a peck on Lance's mouth which resulted in a long slow glide of lips and tongue, in what he could only call a porn kiss, before they pulled back. 

"'Night, and thanks for everything," Lance said sincerely, waving as Britney moved down the hall. 

"Whoa, whoa wha-- wait-- what was that?" Justin demanded, once Lance had stepped fully inside the room and set his bottle down. 

Lance put on a dismissive air and shrugged. "A kiss?" 

"Yeah-- a kiss with my _girlfriend_ , and, I mean, since when-- you and _Britney_?" Justin wiped a hand over his forehead. "That was-- I mean-- right in front of-- damn," he said, and Lance fought a smile, committing this to memory for when he could tell Britney all about it. 

"We know any porn stars named Holly?" Chris wondered aloud. 

"Look, don't worry," Lance said. "I'm not stealing your precious girlfriend from you. She doesn't swing that way anyway." He retrieved his bottle again and held its rapidly warming base up against his neck in a purely seductive gesture. 

He caught Joey's gaze, and his composure faltered for a moment when Joey swallowed hard and looked away. 

"'Cause you can kiss her again, if you want to," Justin offered cautiously. "'Cause I'd kinda like to, um, be there." 

Justin was saying something; what was he saying? Oh, right. Lance forced himself to turn back to him, snickering. "I only plan to be drunk enough to do that once in my life, J," he told him, and made his way to his room without looking back. 

* * *

The fans didn't take terribly well to Holly after Joey kissed her on the Teen Choice Awards. 

"Okay, this is so unfair," Lance grumbled, his eyes travelling over the website he'd been surfing. 

"Why, what's going on," JC inquired, picking up his notebook and coming by to peer over Lance's shoulder at the laptop. He whistled, eyes opening wide. "Oh, wow," he breathed. "That's. Where did they get that?" 

"Where'd they get what?" Lance tried to shield the screen from Chris's prying eyes when he asked. 

"They're saying I used to be a porn star on some messageboard," Lance sighed. "That Holly used to be a porn star," he corrected himself. 

"Holly _is_ a good porn name," Justin said reverentially, nodding, "and Holly's got a pretty good porn body, you gotta admit." 

Lance rolled his eyes and glanced back at the screen where someone had done a fair job of pasting his head on someone else's nude form. 

Chris looked over Lance critically. "I dunno, man.... he's got a kinda Ginger Spice kinda body," he observed. 

"She's all hard-bodied now, though," Justin pointed out. 

"Yeah, well, she's not Ginger Spice anymore, either." 

JC gestured to the screen. "Somebody seems to think Holly has more of a Pamela Anderson kinda body," he said, and they crowded over as Lance pushed away from his laptop in resigned disgust. 

"Whatever," he huffed, retreating to a corner of the room. "Mine are real." 

Justin nodded. "I'd have to agree with you on that. I mean, you can see the _scars_ on this chick." 

"Well, you'd know," Chris commented. 

"Okay, don't you guys maybe think it's kinda rude to, like, stare at these pictures?" Joey spoke up for the first time, the only one who hadn't yet expressed interest. 

"Well, how else can we compare?" Chris asked drily. 

"Well, what," Joey threw up his hands. "Am I the only one who hasn't seen Lance's rack here?" 

"I haven't," JC volunteered, "but, like. I mean, these aren't even real pictures. It's not a big deal." 

"It's not like I have, you know... honor to defend or whatever," Lance put in, feeling quite honored nonetheless. 

"It's. I dunno. Disrespectful. Look, fine, forget it. Ogle the porn," Joey mumbled, and left the room, biting his nails. 

* * *

Joey spent a lot more time recording Lance's parts at a higher speed so that they could be tweaked and lowered later, and Lance felt awful about that, but at the same time, he discovered that his harmonies with Chris were "crisp and clear as a bell," according to Kevin, and that was something. 

But while previously Joey would stick around during playback, his palm pressed to Lance's back, and compliment him on his falsetto -- _"that raspy thing that happens when you get up there? I so can't do that,"_ he'd laughed, once -- now as soon as he was finished his parts he left the studio early, hat tugged down low over his eyes. 

The feel of JC leaning over his shoulder during playback without Joey to anchor him on the other side was discomfiting to Lance. 

* * *

He found Chris waiting for him outside of the rehearsal room one day, obviously hoping to intercept him for a moment. "Can I talk to you for a sec?" Chris asked, and when Lance hedged on a response, he added, "I'll drive you home if you need to run errands or whatever, but I'm not letting you out of my sight until we can talk, so you might as well give me a minute here." 

Glancing up the hallway, Lance could only see Johnny hold up a hand in a farewell wave, letting the two have their privacy, and stifled a sigh. "Sure," he said. 

"Okay," Chris nodded, and began evenly. "Um, here goes. Look. I don't know what's going on with you and Joey, and it's none of my business, but he's kinda losing it, and all signs point to you, so you need to fix it. I don't care how." 

Lance blinked. Shook his head. "Chris, I didn't-- there's nothing--" 

"Then maybe... You know. Maybe there should _be_ something," Chris interrupted him. "Whatever you're doing now, do the opposite. _Something._ " He let out a deep breath. "He's not happy, Lance. He's not himself." 

" _I'm_ not myself," Lance retorted, pointing at himself. "And it's not my fault, and I can't help it, and," he slouched against the wall and lowered his voice. "I think that's maybe got something to do with why he's been acting weird." 

"You think so," Chris said flatly. He had his arms folded across his chest, eyebrow arched inquisitively. 

Lance frowned in concern. "Don't, um. Say anything to him, okay? But, I uh. Think he's attracted. To me. Like, 'cause of..." he trailed off and his hand flew up, fluttering about his hair, brushing against the tiny butterfly clip that pinned it aside on the left. When he finally made eye contact with Chris again, the latter was watching him sternly, and he felt even more defensive than before. "It's really embarrassing, okay?" he said, feeling his voice rise and his face redden. "He's my best friend, okay, and it's really fucking uncomfortable to have him look at me and know he's thinking--" 

"Thinking what? That you're attractive? That he might want more than friendship with you?" Lance nodded, wanting every bit to be swallowed up by the floor, and Chris unfolded his arms, pressing his fingers tightly to his eyes. "Fuck, Lance, don't go into rocket science, okay? So he's _attracted_ to you." Chris leveled his glare on Lance again. "You're telling me you've never been attracted to a friend before?" 

"Of course," he mumbled, "but--" 

"And did your friend ever start treating you like shit?" Chris demanded. 

"It was never a _guy_ \--" Lance began. 

"Oh, I _know_ you don't have a problem with _that_ , Lance," he scoffed. 

"This is _different_ ," Lance hissed. 

"Because you don't want him back?" 

"Of _course_ I want him--" _whoa, whoa, what? want?--_ Lance blinked. "I want him the way he is," he said slowly. "But I don't.... want him to want me like. _This_. This... temporary thing." 

For the first time since Chris had cornered him, his face softened and he regarded Lance with solemnity. "I think," he said carefully, tilting his head, "that if you really want him, you should tell him what you just told me, _and_ ," he added quickly, when Lance opened his mouth to speak. "I think if he really wants _you_ , he'll learn to like dick when the time comes. So go fucking talk to him, already." He didn't smile when he said it, but his eyebrows quirked and when Lance met his gaze his eyes were dancing, and _God_ , Lance thought as he melted into Chris's embrace, he really hoped that Chris knew what he was talking about. 

* * *

When Lance went to Joey's to talk about it, he was surprised to find Joey alone; normally he had at least a few people over. At least his brother would be around, so the two of them could watch television or order in, or get ready to go clubbing. Joey didn't like to hang out alone any more than Lance did. 

"What were you doing here all by yourself?" he asked, following Joey into the kitchen. Joey simply shrugged, rubbing his hands over his face and pointing out where he was keeping the junk in the fridge. 

"Didn't really feel like doing anything, I guess," he finally replied. He nodded in Lance's direction. "Nice shirt," he said indifferently. 

Lance glanced down quickly, having forgotten what he was wearing, and smiled slightly. "Thanks. It's, you know. I designed it for FuMan. So." He'd finally allowed himself a small pleasure; the navy mid-riff shirt read _FuBitch_ across the chest in glittering pink stylized Kanji. He was terribly proud of it in spite of himself, and lamented the day he wouldn't be able to wear it anymore, but then he'd promised it to Britney, which was the next best thing. 

"Uh-huh," Joey nodded, getting a beer out of the fridge. "So, anything I can do for you?" 

"I wanted to talk," he said plaintively, backing up against the counter island. "'Cause. I guess things are kinda weird, and we haven't really sorted anything out, and. I miss you, and. I wondered if we could work it out or something." 

Joey took a swig and shrugged. "Okay. Hit me. You got any ideas?" 

"You like girls," Lance blurted, which wasn't really what he'd expected to say first but was really what was on his mind, folding his hands against his stomach. He swallowed hard as Joey blinked at him in bleary-eyed confusion, and bit on the inside of his cheek as he waited for a response. "Right? I mean, that sounds dumb, but." 

"Yeah," Joey mumbled, furrowing his brow. He tilted his head. "Yeah," he repeated, looking more confused. "I like... yeah, what--" 

"You like me," he said next, cutting off Joey's efforts. "As more than, um. A friend?" He took a deep breath and rushed on. "Because, um, I'm really making a fool of myself if you don't and I'm totally wrong," he added, breathing a laugh, and when had he started wringing his hands? he wondered. 

"Lance," Joey started, reaching out for him, touching his shoulder, and Lance flinched away, too agitated to feel his heart twinge when Joey lowered his hand in disappointment. 

"No," he whispered, shaking his head, licked his lips, and went on. "'Cause this isn't-- I don't know how long this is gonna be, and I don't want it to be like...." he looked up and shrugged. "Like I'm not a girl anymore one day, and you don't like me anymore, either." There; he'd said it. He'd said it, and the ball was no longer in his court, and he _hated_ that he'd had to relinquish control of it for even a second. 

Joey looked at him for a long moment with what Lance could only assume was a sad expression, eyes drooping, mouth turned down at the corners, and let out a long sigh, his shoulders sagging in defeat. Lance held his breath while he waited, a slow curl of discomfort starting in his chest that he couldn't decipher as emotional or physical, and then Joey spoke. 

"Sometimes, you know," Joey shrugged a shoulder, speaking thoughtfully, "things happen that make you notice stuff you never thought about before, because you never had to. And then, like, after whatever happened is over, you're never the same again, you know?" 

Lance shook his head slowly. "You don't know that," he said softly, but didn't flinch this time when Joey put the bottle aside and reached out for him, resting his hands on either side of his ribcage, wrists brushing the swell of Lance's breasts. 

Joey gave him a slight smile. "I'm not in love with the rack, Lance. It just... maybe made me notice the things I was already in love with?" 

_Good enough for me,_ Lance thought, but didn't say it. "God bless the rack, then," he said instead, matching Joey's smile, and then they were in complete agreement as he unentangled his hands and cupped Joey's face between them, glad to be at eye-level when their lips met. 

Joey expressed his own appreciation for the rack later, murmuring it against Lance's skin as he pressed the hem of Lance's shirt up against his collarbone and flicked his tongue against sensitive flesh. The shirt ripped. Lance didn't mind. 

"Are you," Joey nipped Lance's earlobe with his teeth, then nursed it gently with his lips, "on anything? How careful do we need to be, here?" 

Lance paused in sliding Joey's shirt down over his shoulders. "Um, on any-- oh, like. Oh. No." He hadn't thought about it, in all honesty, and admitted as much. "I wasn't really planning on needing it, I guess," he sighed, opening his mouth to Joey's again and feeling Joey's hands slide down over his stomach and hook into the waistband of his underwear. 

"Shit," Joey murmured, still pressing Lance back into his bed, fumbling with his fly with one hand. "I have, like, a policy." He shimmied his jeans down past his hips and tugged on Lance's shorts from the legs. "Double or nothing." 

Lance looked up at him, wide-eyed and breathless. "You're kidding," he gasped. "You're not gonna stop, are you?" 

"Couldn't if I tried," was the growled reply, before Joey kissed him forcefully again, and together they worked shorts and jeans aside successfully, negotiated the condom in a flurry of hands and giggles, and Lance inhaled sharply as Joey thrust inside of him. A flicker of pain licked through him briefly, then faded, and then he focused, concentrating on what it felt like to be on the other end of sex in a way he'd never be able to understand otherwise. 

And also, Joey was damned good, and creative, and had this ability to touch more places at once than his hands ought to allow, and yeah, sex as a girl was shaping up to be a pretty good thing and what was _that?_ he wondered, as he shuddered. "I'm not hurting you, am I?" Joey asked, his hips nudging further as he supported Lance's hips with one hand and linked the fingers of the other with Lance's. Lance just shook his head, and moaned, "oh, God, _yeah_ ," which wasn't the right answer exactly, and came. 

* * *

The next day, Lance went to the clinic to obtain a prescription for the Pill. He had not expected it to be a pleasant experience, but it turned out that there was unpleasant, and then there was horrifyingly uncomfortable, and then, as far as he was concerned, there was this. 

"What the hell crawled up your ass and died?" Justin asked, when he was on the receiving end of a particularly fierce glare once Lance showed up at a photo shoot. 

"Hdgdnncnst," Lance mumbled, grateful for the bobby pin he held in his mouth while he tried to pin his hair down for the wig he'd have to wear. 

"Come again?" 

"I had to. Gotothegynecologist," he said, and hushed Justin when he saw his eyes widen. "Don't even ask," he warned. "And just. Jesus, if I ever see a stirrup again," he wailed, and let Justin have his laugh. 

When he told Joey what he'd done, Joey laughed, too, and then went down on him to celebrate, and that right there was a whole other perk to being a girl that made up for the Pill thing. 

* * *

They took full advantage of the fact that they could act like a couple in public by holding hands in the mall and exchanging the frequent kisses of new coupledom. 

"You guys only take up one seat wherever you go these days," JC observed, when Joey pulled Lance into his lap to sample his iced cappucino. 

"Isn't that great? We're conserving space," Joey responded, and kissed Lance's neck with cool lips. Lance beamed and said nothing, because he'd never been able to sit on Joey's lap before without feeling like a tool. 

"Yeah, I'm dating someone," Joey started saying in interviews. "She came with me to an awards show a couple months back, and I really care a lot for her, but we're probably gonna be keeping it more low-key in the future. We'll see." 

* * *

"Excuse me; is this seat taken?" Nick Carter asked, appearing suddenly in Lance's field of vision, a roguish grin spread across his face as he gestured to the empty seat next to him at the bar. 

Lance glanced up at him, half-afraid to see signs of recognition, and shrugged diffidently, crossing his legs away from Nick. _Never underestimate the importance of body language..._ "Yeah, it is," he said as apologetically as he could manage, nodding. 

Nick glanced around him, lips pursed in thought, and shrugged as well, before taking the seat anyway. "I don't see anybody," he quipped. 

"Then why'd you ask?" Lance muttered, glancing over his shoulder to the doors and wondering how much time Joey really needed to take a piss, anyway. He hunched over his gin and tonic, making the dismissal more apparent; what he wouldn't give for Lonnie right about now. 

"You came in with Joey Fatone, right?" Nick leaned in on one elbow, nodding to the bartender when he slid a drink across the bar at him. 

_He is fucking trying to pick me up, he is fucking trying to pick me up--_ "Yeah," Lance said warily, and checked the doors again, reflexively. "That's his seat," he added. "You know? The taken one?" 

Nick shrugged easily. "I doubt he'd mind that much," he said, and leaned in further, for a conspiratory whisper. "I never pegged him as the possessive type." 

Lance gave him his best Mona Lisa smile. "Well, I'm not the usual kinda girl Joey dates," he drawled, and then averted his gaze and swallowed hard because shit, that was flirty, wasn't it? Yeah, he thought it probably was. 

Nick took the bait as an opening. "That's probably why I'm here," he replied, and grinned back. Casting a furtive glance at the door, he inched forward, brushing Lance's bare knee with the backs of his fingers. "I'm sorry; I didn't get your name." 

"Lllll. Um. Holly," Lance said haltingly, gaze still down on his fingers, tracing paths through the condensation on his glass. 

"Holly," Nick tried. "I like that. You're very pretty, Holly; and you don't mess it up with makeup, and I like that, too." He took a deep breath and braced his arm against the bar. "Well. Holly. You think Joey'd mind if we got away for a while? Who knows," he added, "you might wanna come home with me tonight instead." 

Swivelling just out of reach and patting down the bottom of his skirt, flattered, Lance cleared his throat and shook his head. "I wasn't, um, kidding," he said. "I'm. Not interested. No." 

If he was fazed by the rejection, he didn't show it. Nick rose smoothly, his tongue in his cheek. "Well," he sighed, reaching into his pocket. "If you change your mind, you know where to find me. That's for your drinks," he added, tossing a few bills on to the bar, then looked over Lance's shoulder and nodded in acknowledgement. "Hey, Joey." 

Joey nodded back, coming around Lance and standing between them before taking his seat. "Hey, what's up?" he offered non-committally. 

Nick shrugged. "Just sayin' hello." He outstretched a hand to Lance. "Nice meeting you, Holly." 

Lance waved in lieu of shaking his hand, and a dark look passed over Nick's face as his gaze flitted from Lance to Joey and he withdrew his hand before turning away. 

"What was that all about?" Joey wanted to know, sitting back down and frowning when he found the seat warm. 

Lance grinned and winked at him. "Dude," he said, "Nick Carter totally hit on me." 

* * *

"Okay--" Lance took a deep breath and let it out. "Lemme look at it," he commanded, reaching out for Joey's hand. 

Joey pulled it in towards himself and looked up at Lance, bemused. "Oh, you're talking to me now?" 

"This has nothing to do with you," Lance said with mock sweetness, grabbing Joey's hand and ignoring the slight hiss as he roughly unclenched Joey's fingers with his own. "A little ice and you'll be as good as new," he murmured, examining the reddened knuckles, and dropped Joey's hand to head for the mini-fridge in their room. 

"Not even," Joey called after him. "I'll sleep on it and be fine. Nick's the one who needs the ice," he added. 

Lance narrowed his eyes, his back still turned to Joey. "You don't even deserve the ice, with your macho bullshit." 

"Hey -- it's the alpha male in me," Joey replied. "I reserve the right to pound my chest and other boyband members if I want to." 

Lance whirled on him, iced towel in hand. "When'd you get so neanderthal, anyway?" he asked, incredulous. "I mean, I have a right hook of my own, thank you, and Nick was going _away_ , Joey. I didn't need you to _defend_ me." 

Joey nodded, contrite. "I know," he said, examining his hand gingerly. "I know, I just. He doesn't. _Know_ you. And where does he get off, hittin' on the girl I'm with, anyway? He never did that before." 

"You probably wouldn't've known if he did," Lance pointed out. 

"What, was I that bad or something?" 

Lance tilted his head at him, eyebrows raised. 

Joey seemed torn between laughter and sheepishness. He stuck his bottom lip out and fluttered his eyelashes. "But.... I _love_ you," he crooned. "Doesn't that count?" 

That made him laugh, and cave. "You're already gettin' laid tonight; you don't need to suck up," he told Joey, standing between his legs to wrap the towel around Joey's hand, toying with his fingertips as he did. 

"Does that mean you forgive me for going all Tarzan and giving Nick Carter a bloody nose?" 

"Maybe," Lance said coyly, and straddled Joey on the bed when he leaned back. "You're like, my completely unnecessary hero." 

"Would you call me," Joey kissed him, threading the fingers of his good hand through Lance's hair. "Your Superman?" 

Lance smiled against his mouth, already fumbling with Joey's fly. "I love you, Joe, but don't push it," he growled, and kicked off his heels before sliding down Joey's body. 

* * *

"We've been declining most magazine photo shoots for promotion purposes," Johnny explained, "and that puts us at a disadvantage when the album comes out, but when it comes to shooting for the video, we can't be putting that off forever. So," he slouched down further in his chair. "How do you guys feel about filming now, and working around whatever we can?" 

"I'm okay with it," Lance piped up from Joey's lap. "It's not like I have reason to be in the video a lot." 

"A lotta face shots and stuff should be okay," Justin nodded. 

"Well, I mean, I can still _dance_ ," Lance argued, then smirked when Justin leveled him with a look. "You know what I mean." 

"No, that's true," JC agreed. "Hair and makeup shouldn't be a big deal, a lotta distance shots, he can wear black. It's not a problem." 

"You could strap 'em down," Chris suggested. 

"I could?" Lance asked. 

* * *

The morning that Lance changed back, in the middle of location shooting for the video, he spent another long moment in front of the mirror re-acquainting himself with the person he'd known all of his life sans six months - the wider, stronger contours to his face, the sharp angle of his Adam's Apple, the broadness of his shoulders and the bulk of his arms and the flatness of his chest. 

He'd already been sitting down when it had occurred to him that he could pee standing up again. And now the chipping polish on his nails seemed fey and his eyebrows too well-groomed, and the stubble that rasped against his thumb when he dragged it across his chin made him feel untidy. He decided to leave it for a few days, let it grow anyway. 

Joey knocked on the door tentatively. "Hey," he called. "You fall in? Need any help in there?" 

Lance moved to open the door wordlessly, simply releasing the latch and giving the knob a twist before stepping back and resuming his position before the mirror. "You've been in here," Joey went on, following him in, "for, like, an ho-- oh." He stopped short just inside the doorway and watched Lance in the mirror. "So. Hey, you're back." 

He nodded. "Hi," he said, his first word that morning, and his chest rumbled with the deepness of it and startled him. He cleared his throat, to hear it again. 

"So," Joey tried. "How do you feel? Weird? Different?" 

Lance just shrugged, his gaze flickering from himself to Joey in the mirror, and couldn't help but think that how he felt didn't really matter, that it depended on where they stood more than anything else. He'd get used to being male again -- that was nothing, but it would be a loss if things changed between him and Joey, and he didn't know how to say that. "I need to get my hair cut," he observed, inanely. "And, um. I guess I can sing my own parts again, so--" 

"Lance," Joey said softly. 

"Yeah." 

"I'm still here." 

He nodded slowly. "Okay," he said cautiously. 

And as if to illustrate the point, Joey stepped closer and wrapped his arms around Lance's midsection, pressed the length of his body against Lance's back, rested his chin on Lance's shoulder. They examined each other's reflections. "You wanna get breakfast up here today?" he said. "Just the two of us? And we can tell the guys later." 

The _we_ was understood, obviously taken for granted, and Lance relaxed and smiled, leaning back into Joey's embrace. "Okay," he repeated blissfully, and then Joey was murmuring against his neck in a lusty voice about getting re-acquainted and getting beard-burn and _hell_ , Lance thought, _let's skip breakfast._

It was good to be back. 

**Author's Note:**

> Yeah, one in the _JC and the Pussycats_ series. Helen did it first, and for that I am indebted. Stacia and Kitty (both of whom practically merit co-author status, I swear) and Chris and Wax and a whole SLEW (thanks, JC) of others hand-held, gave ideas and suggestions, appeared in cameos and were then written out -- all that fun stuff. God love 'em all for putting up with me.


End file.
